Pulse Points
by Lala Kate
Summary: The death of one woman saves the life of another, and a chance meeting just may bring everything full circle for two lonely strangers.
1. Chapter 1

**_So this tale is my gift to my Outlaw Queen Secret Santa on tumblr. I thought I would also share it here, so I do hope you enjoy it. I am envisioning this as a story in 4-5 parts, and I am posting Parts 1 and 2 simultaneously. Expect Part 3 sometime around the New Year. :)_**

**_I own neither Ouat or Return to Me, the movie to which this story pays homage. But I adore them both and hope you enjoy this excursion. _**

**_Feedback is most welcome. I love hearing from my readers! _**

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><p><em>Dear Family,<em>

_I am writing to thank you for the gift you gave me and my mom. Two years ago, you gave her a heart, and it saved her life. Her heart was barely working, and she was on oxygen and hooked up to machines. She would be dead now, and I would be an orphan if you didn't do what you did. I know somebody you loved had to die for her to get their heart, but it saved my mom's life. And she's all I have. _

_She is healthy now, and I still have a mom thanks to you. So I'm sorry you lost somebody you loved. But you saved my life because you saved my mom. And that heart is still alive and beating strong. One day, maybe I can thank you in person. But for now, I hope you get this letter. I hope it makes you feel better._

* * *

><p>The letter shook in his hand, his eyes welling up until tears spilled over, wetting his cheeks, dampening his beard. This—even after he had read this letter countless times, even after another year had passed.<p>

Two years—had it really been two years since he had lost her—his wife? His heart?

Would he ever be able to think about that night without feeling sick?

Yes, it had been Marian's heart that had been cut from her chest and given to another, a woman he had been told, a mother, the letter had informed him. But his heart had ceased to function properly the moment his wife's had stopped beating, and he sighed into the stillness, wondering if it would ever fully recover.

"It still hurts, Marian," he murmured, shaking his head yet again at his habit of talking to her when the pain became acute. "God, I wish you were here."

He turned to stare into the doorway, making certain Roland wasn't listening. The boy had caught him once, and since that moment he had taken to speaking with his mother sometimes, assuring his father that yes—she could hear them, and yes—she still cared. He could never reprimand his son for such notions, and there were moments he thought he felt her, a lightness, a glimmer of something that felt like his wife. But he usually felt alone, fractured and dark.

And it hurt like hell.

He refolded the note as he had many times before, wondering when and if he would ever share it with Roland, wondering how long it would be before he could read it without missing her so badly that his lungs would ache.

He swallowed down the bitterness in his mouth, his palms clammy and shaken, and he replaced the letter into the drawer of his nightstand, shutting it slowly, somehow smelling the scent of her hair.

_I'll meet you at home_ she had stated cheerfully just before ending their call.

It was the last time he had heard her voice.

He shook himself mentally, rubbing his hand across his scalp, inhaling sharply as he stared around his bedroom. God, it was a mess. But his life was a mess, at least the parts that people couldn't readily see.

Had he done the right thing in donating her organs? He knew it was what she had wanted, and the note from the child, a child whose mother still lived, it affirmed his decision, it made him happy that this child had not lost both parents.

"Be well," he voiced aloud, looking at the drawer, thinking of the woman who now carried Marian's heart in her body. There was some comfort in knowing that it continued to pump life and nurture a child, even if his own would never know how much that heart had loved him. At least it was cherishing another little boy, or a little girl perhaps, and he knew how well suited her heart was for that task.

So his heart would have to love Roland enough for both of them. God, he suddenly felt so horribly inadequate and small.

"Dad! Are you coming?"

He looked over his shoulder, smiling at the one thing in his life that brought him joy. His son—his Roland—the only true remnant of a beautiful life cut short far too soon.

"Just a minute," he called back, rubbing his face to pull himself from this stupor.

"We're gonna be late," his son yelled, and he glanced at the clock, knowing the boy was right. "Uncle Frank…"

"Uncle Frank will have to wait," Robin interrupted, taking a final look around his bedroom, knowing he would have to deal with the pile of dirty clothes piling up in the corner within the next two days. "He can manage until we get there."

"But Nonno is making the cake tonight!"

Roland now stood in his doorway, looking up at him with eyes that reminded him too much of his mother.

"And your grandfather knows how much you love his Italian Cream Cake," Robin returned. "He'll save you piece. I promise."

"But he lets me help ice it sometimes," Roland pouted. "And Uncle August is supposed to bring me a present all the way from Australia."

"Austria," Robin corrected. "Not Australia. Those are two different places, remember."

"Whatever," Roland sighed, earning himself a look from his father. "Can we go now, Daddy? Please?"

He laughed as his son's lower lip stuck out further than lips were designed to do, and he moved forward, ruffling his dark curls affectionately. God, he loved his boy.

"Come on," he grinned, extending his hand, bracing himself for whatever lay ahead tonight. "Let's get to work, shall we?"

* * *

><p>She stared at herself in the mirror, tracing the scar, the scar that would never go away, the one that had saved her life.<p>

Two years. Had it really been two years since her surgery? Since she received the heart of another person who had not been as lucky as she had? Since she had written a good-bye letter to her son, had tried to count the number of freckles that dotted his face, had attempted to reach out to a mother with whom she hadn't spoken in years?

It had been. And she still wasn't sure how to feel about it.

Why had she of all people been spared? She wasn't exactly a nice person. Edgy—yes. Forthright—most assuredly. Unafraid of speaking her mind when something needed to be righted—without a doubt. But she had lost a part of herself on that operating table when her heart had been removed and replaced by another.

She had lost her confidence. And something else she couldn't quite put her finger on, try as she might.

Something that made her now feel like less of a woman.

"Stop whining," she reprimanded herself, trying to shake off a sense of drudgery that engulfed her like an oversized cloak. Her fingers reached up, tracing the swell of her breasts, the tips of her nipples through soft fabric before moving the scar that lay between them.

The scar that shouldn't define her. But it did. Shit.

She grabbed her favorite scarf, the cobalt one, relishing how the soft fabric felt against her skin and effectively covered what still made her feel self-conscious. It shouldn't—she knew that, but logic didn't come into play when it came to her scar. Just talking about her surgery made her uncomfortable, like admitting she had a transplant opened her up to probing questions and public scrutiny. Yes-she was grateful but far from ready to discuss the miracle she had been given. Her private life should remain just that—private. Shouldn't it? As if she had a private life these days that didn't include packing lunches and anything related to _Marvel _or _Pokemon_.

Why did she feel this way—God, she should be dead by all rights. She should be thrilled just to be breathing. But she wasn't. She was alive. She'd been given a second chance.

But she was living in the shadows, afraid of stepping into the light.

"What are you looking at?" she questioned, daring her image to talk back to her. But it didn't. It simply stared back with a look she couldn't stomach. Shit—even her own reflection was judging her these days.

"Mom," her son cried out from downstairs. "David and Mary-Margaret are here. Are you ready?"

"Just a minute," she answered, tucking the scarf securely into her neckline, liking the contrast of deep blue with her pale gray sweater. She put in earrings, simple sterling studs, and re-examined her appearance one last time, rubbing her lips together, wondering why she felt so on edge tonight.

They were celebrating, after all. Celebrating her life. She forced a smile on to her face.

"You look great, Mom," Henry stated, catching her by surprise in her doorway. "Now come on. We don't want to be late for our reservations."

"Reservations?" she questioned, straightening his collar. "Where are we going?"

"Some place David heard about," Henry answered as they walked down the stairs. "An Irish-Italian restaurant."

"Irish-Italian?" she echoed, shaking her head. "That's a new one on me."

"Well, it is Boston," Henry returned, and she ruffled his hair, saddened by the fact that he was now nearly as tall as she was.

"That it is," she sighed, bracing herself for a night she wished she could fast-forward to its conclusion.


	2. Chapter 2

"This is great, isn't it, Regina?"

She looked back at Mary-Margaret, quirking her brow in disbelief.

"We haven't even been seated yet," Regina stated. "I reserve the right to pronounce judgment until I've tasted something."

"Killian said it was fantastic" David interjected, rubbing his palms in anticipation as he glanced around the restaurant.

"A ringing endorsement if ever I heard one," Regina bit back, not even attempting to hide the sarcasm in her voice. "I'm surprised the waitresses aren't in tube tops and stilettos if it's his kind of place."

"Just give it a chance," Mary-Margaret intervened, rubbing her rounded stomach. "It smells amazing."

"Everything smells amazing to you these days," Regina muttered, earning herself an eye-roll from the other woman.

"Mom," Henry interjected. "Look! They have Italian Cream Cake."

A waitress walked by carrying a tray loaded with three generous slices, and she held her son's shoulders to keep him from following the woman around the restaurant.

"That's promising," she admitted with measured reluctance. "But I'm certain it can't come up to my recipe."

"Is that a challenge?"

A man's voice startled her, and she turned on her heels a bit too quickly, finding herself almost nose to nose with a sandy beard, blue eyes and a devilish grin that looked good enough to eat.

"Because my son will tell you that his Nonno's Italian Cream Cake is the best anywhere," the man continued, wearing a slight smirk that made her nerves hum. "And he has excellent taste, I might add." His eyes challenged her gently, and she drew herself up as tall as she could, tossing her hair over her shoulder for good measure.

"Interesting," Regina shot back. "Because my son will tell you that mine cannot be beaten. Isn't that right, Henry?"

"Uh, right, Mom," Henry repeated, watching the man with interest. "But I'm willing to try Nonno's version—just to make sure."

"Henry!" she exclaimed, eliciting a chuckle from her opponent.

"Sorry, Mom," he shrugged. "It's only fair."

"He's right," the man countered, flashing dimples that did things to her, things they shouldn't be doing, things she'd nearly forgotten. "It's only fair, after all."

The gauntlet was down, the die now cast, and she'd be damned if she were going to let this interloping Irishman who looked like he'd stepped out of an _Eddie Bauer_ catalog best her skills at Italian Cream.

"How is it fair for Henry to sample your version if your son hasn't sampled mine?"

He eyed her openly, a glint of admiration in his gaze, and she tried to calm her racing pulse, drawn to this man like a moth to the proverbial flame.

"If you offer Roland cake, I'm fairly certain he won't decline," he responded, leaning in slightly, watching her as if he was trying to figure out what made her tick. "Neither would I, for that matter."

Shit. He smelled amazing. And had good teeth. She upped the ante on the spot.

"Wait—are you asking me to bake you a cake?" she questioned with a laugh, flashing her eyes at him, watching him take the bait like an overconfident bass.

"I believe you volunteered," he replied with a shrug. "And look—your table is ready."

Her eyes fixated on his, their depths too attractive, too alluring, and too many other dangerous adjectives that had no business being in her vocabulary or pulsing towards her thighs.

"Wait," Mary-Margaret cut in, pointing to a group nearby. "I think those other people were here before we were."

"Doesn't matter," the man stated flatly. "You have a reservation, don't you?"

Mary-Margaret nodded rapidly, casting a glance in Regina's direction.

"Well, it just so happens that I'm the owner, and I have just the table for you," the man continued with a shrug. He tossed her something between a smirk and a grin, making her feel as if she had just been caught cheating in class for staring at that blasted mouth of his. "Follow me."

Her heart did an odd somersault as he turned to lead the way.

"The owner," Mary-Margaret whispered as they walked behind him. "Well, well."

"Well what?" Regina demanded, keeping her voice low.

"He's pretty cute, huh?" her friend answered, an irritating grin spreading across her face.

"He's annoying," Regina corrected. "And far too sure of his family's culinary skills."

"And here I thought I was being humble and charming," the man cut in, giving her that blasted smirk again, making her want to turn the other direction and drive straight home.

"If this is your idea of charming, you must have been taking lessons from him," Regina retorted, tossing her head in David's direction.

"And you still want me to buy her dinner?" David asked, shushed by his wife instantly as she practically shoved him into the booth.

"I'll buy my own dinner, thank you," Regina inserted before taking her seat beside Henry. "Not that I would expect anything less."

"But it's your birthday," her son insisted. "Nobody should ever have to buy their own dinner on their birthday."

"Henry, it's not exactly…"

"Birthday?" the man cut in, rocking back on his heels. "Well, then, it's settled. Your dinner is on the house, my lady."

She paused, taken completely aback by this stranger whose dimples were too damned distracting for her own good.

"That's not necessary," Regina answered. "Really."

"But I say it is," he tossed back. "And after all, I am the owner."

"Yes," she returned succinctly. "You've mentioned that a time or two."

He actually looked somewhat embarrassed then, and she shook her head, fighting back a grin with all she was worth, knowing it was a losing battle.

"So," the man continued after clearing his throat, his neck flushing an attractive shade of pink. "Since I am treating you to dinner, will you trust me to bring out an array of some of our finest dishes for you to try?"

Her heart sped up a bit, her mouth suddenly dry.

"As long as your array includes Eggplant Parmesan," Regina stated, staring at the bottom lip he was now biting as if he were unsure of himself. God, she had to stop looking at his mouth. This challenge of theirs could get her into trouble all too quickly, and heaven only knew that she didn't need any more trouble in her life these days.

"It does now," he grinned. "And it's one of my personal favorites."

It would be, she mused to herself, wondering if she ignored the man completely if he would simply go away.

"I'm Robin, by the way," he added, tossing her an expression there was no way in hell she could ignore. "Robin Locksley."

He extended a hand, and she eyed him warily, unable to keep herself from placing her hand within his, far too affected by the touch of an attractive man on her skin.

"Regina Mills," she stated, horrified to hear the crack in her voice. She cleared her throat, refusing to look David and Mary-Margaret in the eye as she gestured to her right. "And this is my son, Henry."

"Nice to meet you, Henry," Robin returned, shaking the boy's hand. "I'll make certain Roland brings you the best piece of cake from the kitchen after your dinner."

"Excellent," Henry expounded, earning himself an exasperated look from his mother. "And you wouldn't have some lasagna back there, would you?"

"Nonno's specialty," Robin smiled, his hip swaying slightly in her direction making her all too aware of his groin and the growing ache in her breasts. "And Roland's personal favorite. Any other requests?"

They all shook their heads, and he bowed slightly, casting Regina one last glance before making his way off towards the kitchen.

"He likes you, Regina," Mary-Margaret whispered excitedly, wiggling her eyebrows in a manner that made Regina roll her eyes.

"That's his problem," Regina retorted, wishing the odd fluttering just under her ribs would dissipate before their salads arrived. But she kept looking for him, wondering where he'd gone, spotting him greeting other guests, hugging people who appeared to be friends, and she couldn't help but smile as a boy with black curls came bobbing up alongside of him. That had to be the infamous Roland, his cake-loving son. And of course, the little boy was adorable. He would be.

Damn it. She didn't need this kind of distraction in her life.

Piping hot breadsticks were brought to their table, and they all dove in, the scent of fresh bread far too tempting to resist. The first bite was heavenly, the second even better than that, and she allowed the garlic butter to coat her tongue and flow over her taste buds, savoring the flavor as her stomach growled out loud. Of course their salads were delivered at that very moment by Robin himself, and he gave her a frank look of appraisal as he set her plate down in front of her.

"Hungry?" he whispered, and she narrowed her eyes at him dangerously.

"Nosy?" she breathed back, and he chuckled deep in his chest, the sound sparking a thrill up her inner thighs that made her shift in her seat.

"Does my lady approve so far?" he questioned, his brow flicking upwards as she took another bite of her bread.

She nodded with some reluctance, convinced he had asked her while she was chewing on purpose. She reached for her water, taking a sip before giving her reply.

"It's excellent," she admitted, wiping a stray bit of butter from her lip, catching him grinning at her like the cat who had just swallowed the cream. "Which is more than I can say for the service."

He laughed softly at her, pressing his lips together as his ears blossomed into a bright shade of magenta.

"Shall I bring you some wine?"

"That would be great," David piped in, catching Robin's attention. "And Regina likes a good malbec, just so you know."

Robin tossed him a nod of thanks before turning and making his way back down a small corridor.

"What the hell are you doing?" Regina snapped, leaning across the table. "Dropping bread crumbs along a path to lead him from the kitchen to my doorstep?"

"You could use a nice man on your doorstep, Regina," David retaliated, taking a drink of his water. "Mary Margaret and I have thought so for a long time. And who knows? Having a man in your life might give you a more cheerful disposition."

"Your wife's disposition is cheerful enough for the entire city of Boston," Regina stated flatly, feeling far too defensive but unable to do anything about it.

"David's right, Mom," Henry chimed in, and she turned on him in shock, her eyes nearly bulging from their sockets.

"Henry?" she gasped, and he shrugged as if his comment were of no more importance that a discussion of the weather.

She sighed heavily then, leaning back into her seat, not about to give in to the tingling sensation crawling up her legs or the urge to grab up her purse and walk out the front door, making certain this Robin saw every second of her dramatic exit, of course. Damn it, he wore his grayish-blue button down shirt well—too well. It emphasized his biceps, his trim waistline, and especially those eyes of his—those eyes that did things to her she'd rather not entertain at the moment.

"So it's a conspiracy," Regina retorted with a shake of her head. "I should have known no good comes from letting my son spend so much time with his not-so-charming god-parents."

"You haven't let yourself be a woman for years now, Regina," Mary-Margaret observed. "And you know it. You've been a mom, a doctor, a patient, and one hell of a fighter. But it's time you let your guard down a little bit and opened yourself up to the possibility of happiness."

"And who appointed you the Happiness Fairy?" Regina shot back, trying to keep her friend's words from hitting too hard.

"Henry," Mary-Margaret grinned, and Regina shot a glance at her son who just shrugged innocently.

"Face it, Mom," the boy stated flatly. "You need a man."

"Henry!" she exclaimed, her cheeks heating far too quickly for her comfort.

"And he thinks you're hot," her son added with a mischievous grin, nodding in Robin's direction. "I've been paying attention. You are definitely on his radar."

Her mouth hung open, speech deserting her, and she looked to David and Mary Margaret for some modicum of support, only to see them nodding in agreement with her son.

"This is mutiny," she stated, taking another drink of her water. "If I'd known I was going to be ambushed tonight, I would have stayed home."

"Staying home is the last thing you need to do," Mary-Margaret rebutted. "And you know it. It's time you allowed yourself to live again, Regina. Past time, actually, for your own sake and for Henry's."

Her heart squeezed at her words, and she laid her hand on top of her chest, on top of her scarf, over her scar, over the beating heart that kept her alive.

"Are you alright, Regina?"

It was Robin's voice she heard, and she was struck by the look of actual concern in his eyes. Damn it. This was not good.

"Yes," she managed, trying to collect thoughts spinning madly out of control. "I just…"

"There you are, Daddy," a small voice chirped, and she looked around to see the curly-headed Roland beaming at all of them with his father's fifty watt dimples.

"Who makes the cake?" the boy asked, answered by one of his father's fingers pointed in Regina's direction. She took another drink of her water, trying to clear her thoughts before smiling back at the child.

"When are you going to make it for us?" the boy asked, those big brown eyes searching hers eagerly. "When can we come to your house?"

Mary-Margaret grinned at her like the Cheshire Cat, wiggling her brows, making Regina nearly choke on her water. Then Robin's hand was on her back, patting until she stopped coughing, handing her the water glass as she gulped it down greedily.

"She'll never invite us over for cake if you choke her over dinner," Robin reprimanded, and Roland hung his head, looking overly guilty for an innocent remark. She stared at the boy, daring a glance back at his father as her heart took up a rhythm new to her.

"You want to come to my house?" she questioned, still a bit breathless, and the little head bobbed up and down, his grin stealing her heart on impact.

"I promise I won't make a mess," Roland stated, and Robin laid a hand on his son's shoulder with a look of blatant disbelief.

"Roland," he stated. "We don't invite ourselves over to someone else's house. It isn't polite, and we've only just met Regina and Henry."

"But she likes us," Roland returned, glancing back at Regina too closely. "Don't you, Gina?"

Her head started to spin, and she breathed in slowly, trying to regain some semblance of control.

"Of course I like you," she answered, knowing there was no way in hell to turn down the sincere puppy-dog eyes of a four year old charmer. "Roland."

She heard Robin snicker, catching her clarification, and she looked up at him, only to be snared by that blasted half-grin, catching a spark in his expression that hit her squarely. Something overwhelmed her then, something warm and inviting that flowed through her veins like molasses over hot cakes. It was odd, all-encompassing, and the most delicious sensation she had experienced in years.

What the hell?

"Could I get some more water?" Mary Margaret questioned, snapping her out of her stupor as she sought her mutinous reason.

"Of course," he smiled, breathing in audibly. "I'll be right back with a pitcher and your dinner."

She watched him walk away, wanting to call him back, to follow him, to press her face into his neck and smell his skin before kissing him to see how good he tasted. God, where was all of this coming from? Her nipples pebbled beneath her sweater and scarf, and she sat up straighter, determined to shake off this school-girl like crush over a man with a nice ass and dimples as distracting as his accent.

"You're staring, Regina," Mary Margaret hummed, enjoying herself far too much as she and David looked knowingly at each other.

"I'm just glad he left," Regina shot back, trying her best to make her lie sound as convincing as possible. "Now be quiet and eat your salads before I ask for a private table."

* * *

><p>She was watching him walk away, he could sense it, could feel red-hot prickles run up and down his spine, and he bit his lower lip, wondering just what in God's name had happened to him tonight.<p>

It was the two-year anniversary of Marian's death, and here he was making a fool of himself over a woman who just happened to walk into his restaurant, a woman with eyes he couldn't forget, a woman with a small scar on her upper lip and a mouth he found himself aching to kiss.

What sort of man was he that he would act like this on the night he should be mourning his wife?

"She's pretty, Daddy," Roland commented, and he sighed audibly as Frank stopped in his tracks.

"The brunette, I take it," Frank added, looking back at his brother-in-law with interest. "The looker with the kid."

"I'm sorry," Robin apologized, his shoulders sagging as he fought back warring urges to run out screaming into the night air or to go back and kiss the hell out of that woman. "I know it's…"

Frank silenced him with a hand on his shoulder.

"It's been two years," the man began, looking at his brother-in-law directly. "And God knows I miss my sister—we all do. But we both knew Marian, Robin. The last thing she'd want is for you to mope around this restaurant and forget that you've still got a life to live out there. She'd want you to move on. She'd want you to meet somebody else and fall in love again. It's time."

His throat constricted, his lungs feeling both heavy and light, and he looked back over his shoulder, wondering if Regina was giving him a second thought, or if she had written him off completely while he stood here agonizing over her like a witless fool.

Damn it. He didn't need this right now.

"She's interested," Frank continued. "In case you're wondering. And she's a knock-out. Go for it, man. See what happens."

"I don't think she is interested," Robin argued, making his brother-in-law snort. "I mean it, Frank. She's only being kind to me for Roland's sake. She practically said so."

"Hold on, then," Frank stated, making Robin's heart sink as he turned to make a bee-line for Regina's table. "I'll go and ask her."

"No!" he cried out, grabbing Frank's arm. "What in God's name do you think you're doing?"

"Giving you a push," Frank retaliated. "Listen, if you don't ask her out, I'll ask her for you. There's no use in standing here making up excuses when you're dying to get to know that woman. So make up your mind, Romeo. But I'm only giving you through dessert. After that, Roland and I will take matters into our own hands. Right, Buddy?"

Roland nodded, a look of serious determination overtaking the boy's face.

"Now if you'll excuse me, I have some cannolis to deliver to Table twelve," Frank stated, sliding by Robin, leaving him frozen in place. He gazed after his brother-in-law in astonishment, palms sweaty, heart pounding, jittery nerves making him feel like a teenager trying to summon up the nerve to ask his crush to a dance. Why should he be so nervous? Regina was an attractive woman, and he was a man—and a single man at that.

A single man. Shit.

The realization struck him hard, reverberating through every nerve and tendon, nearly buckling his knees in the process. He was single. He was lonely. And he had every right to get to know a woman who interested him, a woman who actually made him sit up and take notice, a woman who helped remind him that underneath layers of grief and desperation, he was still a man. He needed to take a chance on living again for himself and for Roland.

If only the thought of talking to her again didn't scare him out of his bloody mind.

"You heard him, Papa," Roland stated, catching his father's full attention. "You need to ask Gina out."

The voice of his son rattled his rib cage, making him want to laugh and roll his eyes at the ridiculousness of his situation.

"I do?" Robin questioned, kneeling down until he was eye to eye with his boy. "And why do you think that, Roland?"

"'Cause you're depressed," the boy sighed with a shrug. "Uncle Frank and Uncle August said so."

He fought back the cold talons that swept him under all too frequently, making his lungs ache as he fought to stay afloat in this world he was trying to navigate without his wife.

"I'm not depressed," Robin argued, feeling like a terrible liar as he stared into Roland's dark eyes.

"Uncle Frank also says you need to get laid," the boy added, scrunching his nose in confusion. "Whatever that means."

Robin's nearly choked, and he shot another glance over his shoulder, ready to take Frank's head off when he passed by again.

"And you want to kiss Gina," Roland stated with a certainty possessed only by young children. "I can tell."

His breath flew out of his chest, his cheeks warming at least fifteen degrees.

"How in God's name do you figure that?" Robin asked his son, unable to stifle another cough as he gazed at his preschooler now giving him dating advice.

"You keep staring at her mouth," Roland answered, looking at his father as if he had just asked the most obvious question in the world. "That's the way it always happens in the movies. And she's been looking at yours, too. You should go and kiss her, Daddy. I think she'd like it."

"I think she'd slap me," Robin corrected, a laugh escaping through his nose. "And you don't just go up to a woman you have just met and kiss her, Roland. That's not how it works."

"Then go make it work," the boy reasoned with a grin. "You can do it, Daddy." His son's confidence both bolstered and shook his own, but he smiled, his mind feeling like it was stuck in a blender on high speed. "I'm gonna go help Nonno with the frosting. See ya."

He then skipped off merrily, leaving his father slack-jawed and dumb-founded, and Robin stood upright, feeling his back in places he'd rather not, reminding him that he was not as young as he used to be. Shit. This is not how he had envisioned this evening, and he breathed in evenly, wondering what to do, wondering how in God's name he was supposed to look this Regina in the eye without completely giving himself away. His mouth felt like paste, his stomach like a pretzel being wound into shape, and he turned unsteadily on his heels, nearly running into the very woman in question who seemed as surprised by their near collision as he did.

"I'm sorry," Regina breathed with a nervous smile. "I-I was just looking for the ladies' room."

She was close enough that he could smell her perfume, and it did things to him, things like making him lose the ability to reason and form sentences.

"Oh," he fumbled, rubbing nervous fingers through his hair. "It's in the other direction, actually."

She stood silently, unmoving, her fingers fumbling nervously with each other.

"I see," she managed, biting her lower lip and staring at her shoes. "Then I'll just…"

"My son thinks I should ask you out."

The words flew from him before he could call them back, and she stared at him slack-jawed, her dark eyes wide and uncertain. _Idiot_, he thought to himself feeling his ears overheat and his tongue turn somewhat numb.

"Well," she began, her facial muscles working overtime. "That's very kind of him."

"No, it isn't," Robin muttered, backpedalling as soon as the words left his mouth. "I mean, he is a nice boy, and you seem like a nice woman. But that's not why…"

He paused, drawing in a deep breath, grimacing badly.

"I'm botching this completely, aren't I?"

Her face melted in front of him, a radiant yet shy smile striking him hard right where he felt it, and he wanted to kiss her then, more so than he had before, the need to do so making his fingers restless and his lips twitch.

"Yes," she answered, her tone dropping an interval or two. "But it's alright."

He grinned back, daring to take her hand, wondering just what in God's name he was doing and if she'd kick him in the balls for touching her like this.

She didn't.

"I haven't asked anybody out in a long time," he continued, pulling her as close to the wall as he could, trying to claim a fragment of privacy in as odd a situation as he had ever found himself. He scratched the back of his neck, wondering why it felt like a pack of angry fire ants had been unleased along his spinal column.

"I can tell," she returned, and he laughed, exasperated with himself, completely enchanted by her. "But I haven't been asked out in a long time, either."

"You're kidding," Robin rebutted, shaking his head in amazement. She smiled at him again, and his stomach did an odd sort of lurch that made him lean into her a bit closer. God, he pay a king's ransom to see that smile on a regular basis, and his fingers caressed her hands of their own accord.

"No," she began, jumping at a vibration on her hip, smashing the top of her head into his nose. He saw stars for a moment, his eyes blurring as he reeled backwards on impact.

"God, I'm sorry," she began, grabbing the pager with one hand, trying to examine his nose with other. "Are you bleeding?"

"I don't think so," he answered, blinking back the tears that stung his eyes. He sniffed, blinked again, trying to right himself, her face finally coming back into focus through a murky haze.

She was biting her lower lip, looking terribly repentant, and she reached for his face, prodding his nose gently with both of her index fingers on either side of his nostrils.

"I've got to go," she stated, trying ascertain the damage. He pulled back with a small grunt, not ready to have her poke around the bridge of his nose just yet, taken unawares by the small smile that greeted his child-like reaction.

"Hold still," she instructed. "I know what I'm doing."

"If you mean going for the kill, let me assure you that I believe you," he gushed, and he heard her chuckle and hiss through her teeth as he winced at her sure and strong touch.

"I'm not going to charge you for the meal, if that's what you're afraid of," he murmured, rubbing his proboscis as she let go, hoping it wasn't swelling up to the size of a small balloon. He heard her make an appreciative noise, and he managed to focus on her again, hoping he didn't look like the biggest idiot that had ever walked the earth.

"It's not broken," she stated, and he opened his eyes fully, his nose still feeling as if he'd been elbowed by Roland. "But I'm still sorry."

"That you didn't break it?" he managed, making her laugh.

"I'll try harder next time," she returned smoothly. That did it. He lost a piece of himself to her right then, a piece he knew he would never get back.

"A patient," she continued, holding up her pager, her examination of his nose now making perfect sense. "I'm a pediatrician, and one of my children just underwent a risky heart surgery."

That caught his attention.

Her hand had moved to her chest, just above where her own heart was beating beneath layers of cotton and wool. A strong current of pain and attraction wound its way through his nervous system, up his spine and out his body to fix itself around her—this stranger—this woman who had caught him completely unawares in more ways than one standing here in the corridor of his restaurant.

"I need to be there, to talk to his parents and to check on his prognosis," she continued, and he noticed the trembling of her lower lip, her heart now clearly on display for him in a manner he doubted she let many people see. She reached up to prod his nose once again, and he leaned back instinctively, bringing back that smile he knew without a doubt he would dream about tonight.

"Then go," he whispered, drawing those luminescent eyes of hers back in his direction. She stared at him in a manner so unguarded he forgot to breathe, feeling himself spiral down an abyss he was fairly certain had not bottom. "But come back when you've finished. I'll save you some eggplant parmesan and a slice of cake. On the house, of course."

An expression he couldn't quite make out flickered across her features, and he felt warm and cold all over, wondering what she would say, wondering if she would come back, wondering if he'd ever see her again.

"I'll try," she finally responded, nipping her bottom lip and giving his hand a squeeze. She then let go of him and slid away inch by inch, slowly turning on her heels and making her way back to her table and out the front door, taking more with her as she left than she could possibly realize.

* * *

><p><em>Happy Holidays! :D<em>


	3. Chapter 3

_Thank you for all of the kind notes about this story. Thank you for taking the time to read and review. So here's hoping you enjoy Chapter 3! And have a marvelous weekend!_

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><p>What the hell was she doing here?<p>

Regina gazed up at the restaurant marquis, illuminated by well-placed street lights, _L & M's Pub & Trattoria _staring back at her in a teasing fashion, just daring her to step forward and walk back inside. But her legs were immobile, and she just stood there, continuing to shiver in the night air as she hugged her pea coat tighter around her body. Why in God's name had she come back if she was just going to linger here in the cold like a teenager mooning over her first crush?

She knew damn well why, and the answer was fair-headed, blue-eyed, tight-assed, and more than likely waiting for her on the other side of those doors.

_He_ was in there—the blasted owner whose dimples caught her attention and who's bumbling attempt at asking her out made her heart flutter precariously. _Come back when you've finished_, he'd told her, even after she'd banged his nose up pretty badly. Poor man—she winced as she remembered just how sharp the contact between her head and his nose had been, how his eyes had teared up in spite of himself, how he was likely to have a nasty bruise for at least a week thanks to her.

Yet here she was, too afraid to make a move, too insecure to step through the door and face him again, because….well, just because...

Because he did things to her—things that felt great and terrifying at the same time.

This was ridiculous—she was a grown woman, a doctor, and she inhaled deeply, the act of filling her lungs somehow bolstering her courage just enough to propel her forward. She could do this—she could approach this man.

"Here goes nothing," she muttered to herself, reaching out a gloved hand to grab the handle, only to find it locked. _Closed_ the sign in the window declared, and her chest deflated instantaneously. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all—a sign, perhaps, that she should get the hell out of Dodge while the getting was good. Then the door cracked open, and a spikey-haired, doe-eyed man looked her over before shrugging in her general direction.

"Sorry, love," he stated, his thick British accent taking her a bit off guard. "We're closed for the night."

"I—I see that," she stammered, pasting on a bright smile as she took a step backwards, mortification nearly buckling her knees on the spot. "I'll just be going. Sorry to have bothered you."

She turned on her heels, her face burning, her heart sinking down to her stomach, feeling like one big idiot on three inch heels.

"Wait. You wouldn't happen to be Regina, would you?"

She stopped dead in her tracks, every nerve on high alert.

"And if I am?" she questioned, her heart beginning to thud uncomfortably as she turned back in his direction.

"If you are and I accidentally sent you away, my boss would have my head on a platter come morning."

He held the door open for her, and she stared at him, at the entrance, at this juncture in her life beckoning her forward as her mind scurried off in one hundred different directions.

"Listen, love," he cut in. "Its cold out here. Are you coming in, or aren't you?"

"I'm coming," she heard herself answer, rather amazed at how steady her voice sounded, wishing her legs felt as sturdy. Then the warmth of the room wrapped her up like a blanket, and she took it all in, the lingering smell of food prompting her stomach to protest out loud.

"Don't worry," the man chimed in, slinging a dish towel over his shoulder. "I'm pretty sure he's saved you some food. But if not, let me know. I've got a stash of _Snickers_ in my backpack."

She pressed her lips together, noting the tasteful embroidery on his shirt that identified him as _Will. _

"Thanks, but I think I'll hold out for the eggplant," she mused, eliciting a shrug from the man.

"Your loss," Will quipped as he began walking back into the heart of the restaurant. "If you follow me, I'll take you to him."

_To him. _Damn it. Why did those two words make her thighs tingle and her nipples stand at attention? This was ridiculous, and she was certain she should just turn the opposite direction and high tail it out of this pub-trattoria of temptation before the situation got any more out of control.

But she didn't.

"Lead the way," she heard herself instruct the younger man, wondering just who it was that had invaded her body as she tried to swallow down what felt like paste in her throat. Shit, what was she actually going to say to Robin when she saw him? She barely knew the man, after all, had only bantered with him earlier this evening and admired his assets from afar. Well, they hadn't actually been that _afar_ from each other right before she had to leave, she admitted to herself with a measure of reluctance. They'd been close enough for her to whap his nose pretty effectively, but still, that was beside the point. This was ludicrous, unreasonable, impulsive and so very, very unlike her. She nearly talked herself into turning around and bolting out the front door just as Will directed her back through the area in which they'd sat earlier in the evening, and she dared a look at their table, a small grin creeping across her face in spite of herself.

Roland's black eyes danced in her memory, as did the clean, pine-like scent of his father, the mere thought of him tickling her rear in anticipation as she tried to rein in her body's reaction.

"Wait here," Will stated as they came to the narrow hallway in which she and Robin had collided. "I'll let him know you're here."

She opened her mouth to say something—anything, but nothing came out. So she just stood there like a Greek column—waiting, nervous, alone. Until her feet became restless, that is, and thoughtlessly guided her towards the table. She stroked its weathered but smooth surface, knowing Mary Margaret would be grinning at her like an idiot if she knew just where she was at this moment. Shit, she'd tell Regina to follow her heart, even if it took her straight to this man's bed before they'd even had a first date. Which, if she were being completely honest with herself, didn't sound like all that bad a prospect.

Wait—was this their first date? Or simply a trial meeting to see if what had happened between them earlier had been nothing more than a sex-starved fluke? Her pulse sped up as footfalls sounded behind her, her chest caving in as she sensed him drawing closer, ever closer, her skin tingling at his perceived nearness.

"You came."

There it was, that Irish lilt edged with lager, and she turned around slowly to face him, her breath hitching uncomfortably as she did.

Not a fluke. At least, not on her part.

"I came," she echoed, biting her lower lip nervously.

"I'm so glad that you did," he murmured, and her heart did something then, something that propelled her forward two steps, making him grin down at her in the process. Shit—why did temptation have to look so good in a nice-fitting pair of Levis and a forest green Henley?

"Your nose looks better than I expected it to," she stated, reaching forward to touch it, halting just shy of his face.

"Go ahead," he stated. "You are a doctor, after all."

"Glad you remembered," she hummed, touching his face delicately, careful to stop whenever he winced.

"How could I forget?" he returned, one side of his mouth dragging upwards in a lazy fashion. "It's not every woman who leaves her mark so vividly."

She chuckled, she couldn't help it, and he joined her, the sound deep and luxurious as it rippled out from his chest.

"I believe in making an impression," she hummed, emboldened by the mischievous glimmer in his eye.

"You succeeded," he confessed, moving one step closer himself. "My plastic surgeon will attest to that fact."

God, she actually laughed then, and her ribs felt buoyant as earlier misgivings faded away like yesterday's lipstick.

"I hope you're insured," she cautioned as his hand reached out for hers, tentative yet welcoming, the contact sending pinpricks of excitement everywhere at once. "Look what happened at our first meeting."

"I've taken a few precautions for tonight," he shrugged, moving to her side as he enveloped her hand fully, going no further until she made it clear she wouldn't pull away. He looked at her then, his head cocking to one side in a mannerism she found strangely endearing. "Helmet, shoulder pads, there's even a full body cast ready and waiting in the closet, and my old crutches are on stand-by."

"Oh," she mused, feeling a bit mischievous herself as she flashed her eyebrows in his direction. "I wasn't sure just what sort of precautions you were talking about, but those should prove to be more than sufficient no matter what we get into."

He coughed suddenly, nearly choking on thin air, and she was unsure if his face was red from embarrassment, coughing, or simple out and out amusement.

"First my nose, and now you've nearly choked me to death," he managed, his voice ragged between fits of coughing and laughter. "We won't ever need any precautions if you keep this up."

She had to stop in place, her laughter nearly making her stomach hurt, the expression on his face egging it on.

"If it's up already, we could be in trouble," she quipped, making him actually wheeze as he fell back against the wall.

"Should I send out an S.O.S. now or later?" he questioned, clearing his throat loudly as his breathing finally began to steady.

"Later," she answered, wiping under her eyes. "I'm too hungry to bother with that now."

He was grinning back at her with an expression she felt but couldn't define. All she knew was that she liked this man, she really liked this man, even though she knew so little about him. This could get really dangerous really fast.

"I'm sorry…I shouldn't be so bold when we barely know each other," she stated, her gaze falling to their joined hands, wondering why she just didn't cut her losses and leave. He then gave her a slight tug in his direction, guiding her closer and closer until their bodies were nearly touching, his breath warm and steady just above her ear, and she melted on contact.

"Be as bold as you like," he hummed, reaching up to tuck a lock of dark hair behind her ear. "You'll get no complaints from me." They gazed at each other for a moment, and she felt like purring as his fingers brushed over her scalp.

"Even if I border on audacious?" she questioned, her pulse now skipping rope in her neck.

"Especially if you border on audacious," he hummed, the vibration of his voice near her skin making her legs feel like silly putty. He smelled just as she had remembered, only better, and she blinked repeatedly, wanting him to kiss her, half-terrified he just might.

What the hell had gotten into her?

"Hey, Romeo!" a voice cried out from the back. "Don't be getting any ideas before we've even met the lady."

She watched him blush from hairline to neck, and he pursed his lips together, drawing back a bit to look at her fully.

"My brother-in-law Frankie," he explained with a nod in that direction. "He's not exactly known for being subtle."

"I gathered that," she returned as his raised and lowered his brows. "Your sister's husband?"

He paused, eyeing her steadily as he exhaled into the space between them.

"My late wife's brother," he explained, making her feel like she'd like to crawl under a table and hide the rest of the night.

"I'm sorry," she breathed. "I wouldn't have asked if I'd known.."

"It's alright," he interrupted, giving her hand a slight squeeze. "I was going to tell you about my circumstances tonight anyway. And you already know I have a son."

She nodded, guilt still gnawing at her gut for asking so unceremoniously.

"What happened?" she asked, seeing the remnants of pain in the play of his facial muscles.

"Car accident," he answered, and she pressed no further, knowing how quickly a life full of promise could descend into tragedy with one phone call. "Two years ago." She felt his fingers fidget around her hand, sensing he wanted to move on from this subject at the moment.

"Henry is adopted," she offered, evidently catching him by surprise if his expression was anything to go by. "I wasn't seeing anyone, I wanted to be a mother…"

"So you adopted a child," he expounded, a flicker of approval shining back at her. "As a single mother?" She nodded in affirmation, and he bit his lower lip, a maneuver that was far too attractive for her own good. "That's rather admirable."

"No," she corrected. "There was nothing admirable about it. I wanted a child, and he needed a mother. I was the lucky one in this equation."

He smiled at her then, the same smile she'd seen when she'd spoken of her patient, a smile that warmed her from top to bottom and rolled her insides over a time or two.

"I'd say you were both lucky," he observed. "At least from where I'm standing."

"He changed my life," she admitted as she leaned towards him unconsciously. "For the better."

"Children do that, don't they?" he mused, forging a new and fragile connection between them. "I can't imagine where I'd be without Roland. He was my salvation for a very long time after..." He paused, and she waited for him, sensing some old wounds were still somewhat tender. "After Marian died."

"I can imagine," she whispered. "I'm glad the two of you had each other."

His smile didn't quite reach his eyes, but his gaze cut through any and all pretense.

"So you've never married?" he asked, and she raised her brows at the direct nature of his question.

"No," she returned. "I was engaged once, but that ended badly."

"His loss," Robin noted, tugging a smile back across her face. "I'm already certain of it."

His gaze dropped to her mouth, and she felt her breathing still in her throat, licking her lips in anticipation as his eyes sought hers for permission. Her face felt hot, her palms oddly dry, and her gaze flickered from his mouth to those bluer than blue eyes, full of something she wanted to experience for herself.

"Alright, Lover Boy," Frank interrupted from the other room, ruining the moment as effectively as if he'd paraded through on a buffalo. "If you're not in here in ten seconds, we're sending in the cavalry."

"Shit," Robin uttered, wrinkling his nose. "Shall we get this over with?"

Their noses were nearly touching, her free hand resting on his chest of its own accord.

"Sounds like a plan," she agreed, inhaling as her brow creased in concern. "Should I be nervous?"

"Only if you offend easily," he quipped, making her giggle as beads of sweat broke out on the back of her neck. "I've actually instructed them to be on their best behavior as far as you're concerned. But I'm certain it will be open season on me."

"I didn't know there was such a thing as Robin season," she mused, already loving the way he grinned at her.

"Private permits only," he clarified as he turned her towards their destination. "So you should aim carefully, my lady."

"I thought that was your job," she teased, feeling his grip tighten on her hand as he studied her with a curious smile.

"My aim is ever true," he boasted. He bit his lower lip again as she tossed both brows in his direction. "Well, at least I like to think it is."

"Robin Hood, then," she goaded, and he rubbed his free palm over his face.

"God, the number of times I heard that growing up," he admitted. "I actually enjoyed it until I was about eight."

She let him guide her down the narrow corridor towards the large kitchen, swinging a hard left down three steps that led them into a cozy, square room. It was dominated by a round table covered with stacks of chips and encircled by five men holding cards. Two were older, and three looked to be close to Robin's age, one of them reminding her somewhat of Hagrid from the _Harry Potter_ movies.

"Everyone, this is Regina," Robin began, exhaling audibly as his hand snaked around her back. He was warm, overly warm, and she relaxed a bit at the realization that he was just as nervous as she was. "Regina, may I introduce my father-in-law, Alonzo Menotti, his brother Marco, Marco's son August, my oaf of a brother-in-law, Frank, and my dear friend John."

All the men stood, Alonzo maneuvering himself around the table, reaching out to her and giving her a surprisingly firm hug.

"Regina," he beamed, what white hair he had bouncing over his balding head, his thick goatee quivering with glee. "I am Roland's Nonno, and I'm so happy to meet you. Now tell me, is Robin treating you alright?"

She couldn't help but grin back at the man, his warm brown eyes making her feel more at ease by the second.

"So far," she returned, and he squeezed her shoulders, nodding his head vigorously.

"Good," Alonzo returned, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper more than loud enough for the entire room to hear. "He's like a son to me, and he's a good boy, I promise. But it's been a while since he's been out on a date. We've all been a little concerned about him, you understand. He's a bit out of practice, I'm afraid, maybe a bit rusty at kissing and such."

"I see," Regina hummed with a grin, wondering how many shades of red Robin had turned as he cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Well, he's holding his own at the moment, so you can relax."

"He's been holding his own too long," Frank mused to August under his breath. "That's why he needs a woman."

John then ceremoniously whapped Frank over the head with a rolled-up newspaper as Regina felt Robin's grip on her tighten.

"Apologize to the lady, Frankie," John instructed, drawing himself up to his true height which was considerable. "Or you and I will have words later."

"Calm down, Johnny," Frank returned, brushing the big man off as he stepped forward and focused his attention on Regina. "But I am sorry, Regina. More often than not, I act like an asshole. My sister got all the class in the family, and I got left with the good looks." She smiled in spite of herself as she shook his offered hand. "No offense meant towards you, I promise."

"None taken," she stated, feeling Robin's hold on her ease. "Although I somehow think your sister probably took the lion's share of the good looks, too."

An appreciative _Ooooo_ rippled through the men, and she received at least three nods of approval as Frank tossed her a salute.

"God, Frank offends me all the time," August cut in, putting his hand towards hers, shaking it firmly. "You must be a better person than I am, Regina."

"No question," Frank sputtered, rolling his eyes in August's direction. "And she's a hell of a lot prettier too."

"That's because you haven't seen me in my red dress," August rebutted, tossing Regina a wink as the man's father rolled his eyes.

"When you talk like that, Augusto, it's no wonder you're not married," Marco sighed, making his own way to Regina and kissing her on the cheek. He was a shorter version of his brother, his hair more gray than white, his lively dark eyes instantly reminding her of Roland's.

"Bellisima," Marco smiled, holding both of her shoulders and drawing back. "I approve Robin, and you know how hard it is to get my approval."

"Yes, Marco," Robin returned, scratching the back of his ear. "I know."

"If you're not good to her, I'm asking her out myself," Marco added with a wink. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

"I stand warned," Robin noted, raising his hands in mock-surrender.

"God, Marco, you're such a flirt," the Hagrid-esque man stated, moving towards Regina like tower with feet. "I'm John," he said as he took her hand gently, nudging Marco out of the way. "And we're all really glad to meet you, Regina. You have no idea."

Robin cleared his throat just behind her, warming her own ears as she smiled.

"I'm happy to meet you, too," Regina breathed, relaxing into John's grip. "But I hope there's no test on names at the moment."

"The test comes after the cake," Frank explained. "Dessert always comes first in this family. It's important you understand priorities around here."

"I've heard your cake is quite something," Regina mused, smiling broadly at Alonzo. "But I have to tell you, I make one mean Italian Cream Cake myself."

"Ooooo," the men hummed together as Alonzo's bushy eyebrows moved over his scalp.

"Are you challenging me, Signorina?" the older man asked, the gleam in his eye unmistakable.

"Perhaps," Regina cooed. "But not at the moment. I need to taste my competition first."

Alonzo beamed back at her, clapping his hands in delight.

"I'll eagerly await your verdict," the man stated with a bow. "And keep in mind—Roland helped me frost the cakes tonight. It's hard to beat the expertise of a boy like him."

"That makes it even more enticing," Regina smiled as Robin slid in close behind her. "Of course, my son Henry has been known to help out with cake preparation at my house. He's rather good at it himself."

"A fair challenge, then," Marco interjected, eliciting comments from the other men in the room. "Shall we wager on who will win this little contest?"

"I don't care who wins," Frank cut in. "As long as there's cake involved."

"I don't know," August added, rubbing his nose. "I'm afraid to bet against Regina. You see what she did to Robin when he said the wrong thing."

An appreciative chorus rose up among the men, and she dared a glance at Robin who was shaking his head.

"Betting against your own family recipes," Alonzo sighed. "Remember who feeds you around here, Augusto."

"Speaking of," Robin cut in, seeing his opportunity and grabbing it. "I asked Regina back here tonight for the express purpose of making certain that she didn't miss her dinner. I believe it's time I made good on that promise."

"You'd better make good on a lot of things," Frank tossed in, ducking just as Robin sent a jab in his direction. "Papa's expecting a report later tonight."

"Then you'll be sorely disappointed," Robin assured him, earning himself a round of groans from the men as they settled back to their cards. "I don't kiss and tell."

"You don't even kiss," August clarified, earning himself a guffaw from John.

"A fact he may well remedy soon," Marco added, wiggling his gray brows in her direction.

"No kissing until after the cake," John interjected, pointing at Robin. "House rules. Remember?"

"Ten bucks says they don't even make it through dinner before he lays one on her," Frank challenged, drawing all the men's attention. She heard Robin's sigh of exasperation, his presence behind her making her thighs clench and pulse speed up.

"I've got fifteen saying she gives him a black eye to match the nose," August added as Regina tossed a wave good-bye over her shoulder, grateful for the fact that Robin was now steering her out of the room and into the kitchen with more haste than necessary.

"God," he breathed when they were out of earshot. "That was worse than I ever imagined. And you're still here."

"I'm starving," she stated, feeling the warm grin he tossed her down to her toes. "After I'm fed, all bets are off."

He smiled, maneuvering himself until their bodies just touched.

"I'm afraid there are more bets on the table than we realize," he noted, and she made an appreciative noise at the thoughts of what the men might be wagering on now that they'd left the room.

"So who's going to win?" she asked, forgetting to breathe as his nose rubbed the side of hers.

"No question," he whispered, tickling her cheek with his words. "I've already won, just because you're here."

Giddiness pooled behind her rib cage, leaving her in no doubt of just how interested in this man she was already.

"You're that easy?" she teased, his mouth so close she could nearly taste him.

"Try me," he returned.

That's all it took.

She bridged the distance between them in a second, touching her lips down on his, absorbing their weight and softness, feeling him respond immediately. Initial surprise morphed into something more exciting and desperate as hot hands slid around her waist, tugging her closer, coaxing her lips open with his mouth and tongue. God, he felt good, and he tasted like spice and mint and something she thought had to be uniquely him. Her limbs melted like butter, and she leaned into him, nipping and sampling, sparks skittering through her veins like pixie dust on crack.

"Hmmm," he hummed into her mouth, drawing her upper lip languidly through his, stoking embers simmering just below her belly. "You're quite a good kisser."

"I know," she managed as they drew back from each other just enough to breathe, enjoying the feel of his laughter against her chest. "But I'm still hungry. Famished, in fact."

Foreheads touched as her fingers fisted into his shirt.

"Thank God," he returned, his thumb tracing an invisible pattern on her cheek. "Because my appetite has just been whetted." His eyes held her captive, his mouth just begging her to kiss him again.

"It's awfully quiet in there," Frankie called out, and she groaned as he sighed, her head dropping on to his shoulder. "Did you kiss her, Rob? Cause if so, I just won twenty bucks!"

"Come on," he grinned, whispering into her ear. "Let's get you some dinner."

He led her around a corner to a small wooden table sitting by a window, carefully set with two placemats, a bottle of malbec and a candle for good measure.

"And here I thought you were going to hand me a carryout box and ask for my number," Regina mused, staring back at him in wonder.

"Well, I am going to ask for your number," Robin confessed as his arm rounded her waist, tempting her to forgo dinner at the moment and feast on him instead. "But you deserve far more than a Styrofoam box and plastic utensils. Especially on a first date."

"So this is a first date?" she asked as her brows raised in time with his.

"It is if you want it to be," he returned. "Which also means you must allow me to take you on a second one." He worked his lower lip over with his teeth, fiddling his brows in her direction. Shit. She liked it too much when he did that—far too much.

"Alright," she agreed just as he moved away from her to pull out her chair. "First date it is. But the second one depends on how this one goes." She sat down and allowed him to adjust her seat for her, holding her wine glass out as he uncorked the bottle and poured.

"That's fair," he mused. "And I must admit that I'm delighted to discover that you do kiss on the first date."

He filled his own glass just before he leaned down and pecked her lips, effectively silencing her before she could protest.

"Only when there's Italian Cream Cake involved," she clarified with a smoky grin. "And don't be getting any ideas about going any further tonight. I do have my standards."

"Too late," he admitted, looking somehow like a cross between a sheep and a ravenous wolf as he moved towards an oven and placed an oven mitt on his hand. "I have more thoughts than should be legal this early on." Her breasts practically squealed at that remark, and she adjusted herself in her seat as she finally slid her coat off her body. She inhaled as he pulled two trays out of the oven, the mingled scents of lasagna and eggplant parmesan reminding Regina just how hungry she actually was. He busied himself with their plates, topping them off with steamed broccoli before delivering them to the table.

"Buon Appetito," he grinned, setting her plate down in front of her as her stomach nearly pounced on to the table. God, it smelled heavenly, and she was tempted to shove a bite in her mouth without pretense as her salivary glands went insane. She eyed him over the rim of her wine glass, licking her lips suggestively as he hung her coat on a nearby rack before sitting down across from her.

"Nice Italian," she mused, reining in her dignity. "But I was hoping you'd say it in Irish."

He eyed her as he laid his napkin across his lap, picking up his own glass of wine.

"Taitneamh a bhaint as do chuid béile," he stated, earning her admiration as he toasted her from his seat. "Anything else you'd like to hear?"

"Bottoms up?" she teased, shivering all over at his husky chuckle.

"Don't tempt me," he returned with a glimmer in his eye. His pupils expanded as her lids lowered seductively, and she picked up her knife and fork, cutting herself a piece of eggplant she slowly slid into her mouth.

"Álainn," he hummed just before taking a sizable bite of lasagna. She gazed back at him in curiosity, her nipples peaking as he tossed her a pointed glance.

"Do you plan on telling me what that means, or are you going to leave me hanging?" she questioned just before indulging in another bite.

"After dessert," he stated, putting her on a low simmer. "And technically, I believe that's my question."

She smirked her approval, allowing the lasagna to linger on her palate and tongue, chewing slowly so as to enjoy every bite.

"This is delicious," she stated. "Alonzo is quite the cook."

"That he is," Robin agreed. "And it's almost as delicious as the company."

"I had no idea you were such a smooth talker," she noted, spearing a bigger bite of eggplant than she should on a first date.

"I'm not surprised," he mused. "When I could barely string a coherent sentence together while trying to ask you out." He smiled in approval as she popped the overly-large bite in her mouth, and she watched as he took a leisurely sip of his wine, enjoying it in the same way she sensed he would like to enjoy her neck. "And I'm far from a smooth talker, you should know. If I'm coming across like that, it must be that I'm inspired by my company."

"Smooth," she teased, wiping the corners of her mouth, hoping with everything she had there was no stray marinara lingering on her face. "So how long can you keep it up, Prince Charming?"

He tossed her a wicked smile that hit her right between the legs.

"Robin Hood, remember?" he noted with a wink. "And as for how long I can keep it up..."

His brows flickered in her direction, her own tossing him a challenge.

"The proofs in the pudding, so to speak?" she chided, wondering if it was him or the wine going straight to her head.

"Why, Doctor Mills," he hummed. "The things you say."

"You have no idea," she grinned, emboldened as the tips of his ears flushed red. "Just wait until I get warmed up."

"Something to look forward to, indeed," he noted, leaning forward just enough to make his dimples look edible. Damn.

Talking with him was easy, too easy, and she caught herself opening up about parts of her life she usually kept to herself. They discussed children, careers, his immigrant father's friendship with Alonzo and Marco which led to the eventual opening of a restaurant nearly twenty years ago and his romance with Marian, a saga that had been on and off again since high school. She told him of putting herself through medical school despite her mother's disapproval ("It's easier to marry a doctor than to become one yourself.") and expounded on her decision to adopt Henry, nearly tearing up as she described her daily visits to the NICU until he had been able to breathe on his own.

"That can't have been easy," he observed gently. "Leaving your baby in the hospital for weeks, praying he'd get strong enough to come home."

"It was hell," she confirmed with a shake of her head. "And I'm a pediatrician, for God's sake. I knew why the stay was necessary, but I still felt helpless."

"It's different when it's your own child," he noted. "Nothing can ever prepare you for the depth of feeling you carry as a parent. Nothing."

She gazed back at him, her heart full of something she rarely mentioned out loud.

"Thank you," she whispered, watching his brow crease in confusion. "For understanding that…"

She paused, swallowing hard as she reached for her water glass and took a sip.

"For realizing that adoptive parents love our children with the same ferocity as biological ones."

He leaned back, shaking his head as if he was having to process what she had just said.

"Of course you do," he stated. "When you adopt, you're a parent by choice and choice alone—there's no chance to it."

Her lips trembled as her fingers toyed with the napkin in her lap, a sense of ease washing over her nerves like an unleashed dam.

"I know," she affirmed, her tone somewhat fragmented. "But not everyone realizes that."

"Then they're not worth your time," he observed, pushing his chair back as he stood and moved directly in front of her. He extended his hand, and she took it, the feel of his skin—pulsing and alive—doing things to her heart and body.

"And you think you are, Robin Locksley?" she questioned as he eased her against him, his palms on her back, his mouth a breath away. "Worthy of my time, that is?" She tingled from scalp to sole, wondering if he felt the same current flowing between them that she did, the question driven from her mind as his lips brushed over hers with the pressure of a fairy's wings.

"I certainly hope so," he replied, his tone deep, his gaze direct. "Happy Birthday, Regina."

She started to correct him, remembering that Henry had referred to this day as that earlier. But he was too close, too warm, and then lips demanded and mouths took, hands tracing curves and planes as a moan ricocheted up from her gut. His fingers were in her hair, on her hip, skimming her ribs, and she felt a wall press up against her back, allowing her to pull him as close to her as she could. God, this was glorious, amazing, mind-numbingly perfect, and she arched into him as his lips began a slow journey down her neck, rocking every nerve as she began to ache hard.

"I knew it!" a voice exclaimed, and Regina's heart shot into her throat, her body suddenly cold as they shot apart from each other with the speed of a bullet train.

"Roland!" Robin breathed, his face as muddled-looking as her mind. "What are you doing up?"

The child looked back at them and rubbed his eyes, his Ninja Turtle pajama top raised partially over his belly.

"I had a bad dream," the boy answered with a shrug of his shoulders. "But I'm all better now."

He then sprinted in her direction before she had time to think, sleep mussed black curls bobbing on top of his head, and he took her hand immediately, tossing her a grin that could melt an iceberg.

"I knew you liked us, Gina," Roland insisted, his smile infectious and disarming. "I told Daddy that you did, and I was right."

God help her—this boy could charm a cobra.

"Yes, you were," she confirmed as she squeezed his small hand in her own, her mind still caught in a whirlpool. She then caught Robin staring at her—no, at them, at her and Roland standing together, holding hands. She tried to swallow past the lump in her throat, but his gaze held her breathless, her pulse travelling at light speed as she desperately sought her voice. "I do like you both. Very much."

Electricity surged through veins and down limbs, her skin sparking and cracking for his touch, her mouth charged and ready. His eyes were now cobalt, perhaps even navy, and she succumbed to the fog in her brain as he took two steps in their direction.

"See, Daddy?" Roland continued as he bounced on the balls of his bare feet. "See?"

"Yes," Robin answered, his voice the texture of warm leather. "I see."

She knew she should say something, that they couldn't stand here like this forever, but she was mute and mindless at the moment, her legs glued to the floor, her brain evidently checked out for the night. And he was in the same predicament, staring at her, looking into her, showing her his need in the tilt of his head and the creases of his eyes. The room kept getting hotter, but her toes were like ice, and she inhaled as deeply as she could under the circumstances, nearly choking on pure air as Roland pointed a finger at his father and grinned.

"I told you she'd like it if you kissed her," the boy mused with a giggle and a flash of his brows. "You see? You should listen to me more often, Dad."


End file.
